Nightmare Gallery
by teethlikedog
Summary: Some things are best left hidden. [KrayonChris]


Memefic for Juli, who asked for Krayon/Chris, on the theme of crystal. I've read to the fifth volume, so this is set before anything that comes after that. If that makes sense.

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_**Nightmare Gallery**_

Dreams are Krayon's realm; he knows them well, how to create and manipulate them, how to walk in them unseen. And he has taken an, _interest,_ in the dreams of those humans, the companions of the little demon.

The swordswoman dreams of battle, of glory and spoils, of blood and pain and fear. She dreams of childhood friends and long-lost comrades and the family she hasn't seen in years, and those dreams are happy, though Krayon is sure they must sadden her when she wakes. Still, she has a core hard as tempered steel, and dreams are only dreams; they may hurt, but will never break her.

The cleric, though, is something else entirely. On the surface he is tough and cocky, so wrapped up in his own singlemindedness that he appears denser than he actually is. On the surface, it seems that nothing can touch him, that the world slides off him like water off a duck's back.

But Krayon has seen his dreams. And they are unpleasant even by the standards of a millenia-old demon, jumbled images of destruction and death, black hordes shrieking down from the sky and people screaming in fear, in agony; dreams scorched by fire and spattered with blood; dreams through the eyes of a terrified child who watched his world crumple around him, not knowing why.

These are not the dreams he has all the time. Mostly his dreams are the same as any other teenage boy's, which Krayon finds to be quite entertaining viewing, and those are the ones that he recalls in the morning - with embarrassment, sometimes, no doubt. The other dreams, the dark ones, he doesn't remember; Krayon is sure of this, he can sense how the boy's conscious mind is shielded from those horrors, as if divided by a sheet of glass, thin and frail as a breath, yet impenetrable as a stone wall. This is not natural, Krayon knows, someone has done this deliberately, hidden the boy's past deep in his mind, caged it with crystal like a museum exhibit and kept his consciousness at arm's length. Rased, no doubt, because who else but a god would meddle so unashamedly with a person's being? Not even a demon would be so bold.

It fascinates Krayon, this locked-up past, and he can't help but keep returning to the cleric's dreams time and again, watching the gruesome scenes play themselves out in his unconscious mind while the boy himself remains completely oblivious. And walking his dreams, trailing his fingers through their substance, Krayon is astounded at just how _brittle_ this whole facade is, at how easily he could smash it like a rock through a window and let the cleric recall the truth of his past. And that, Krayon thinks, might break the boy.

The swordswoman is attractive, fiery, vivacious, and Krayon quite fancies a roll in the hay with her. Several, if it could be arranged, and he thinks she's not completely unamenable to the idea - though it might advance his case if he dyed his hair black and glowered a lot.

The cleric, well, that's a slightly different case. Because the lattice of his consciousness is enticingly fragile, and those dark eyes are so easily bewildered, and Krayon can't decide if he wants to wrap the boy in velvet like a delicate blown-glass sculpture or shatter his mind into a million glittering shards. To a demon there is beauty in broken things, in a treasure destroyed for the mere sake of it; watching the cleric's chaotic dreams, Krayon sometimes itches with the desire to tip the delicate balance of his sanity, to dig his claws in and _twist_,just a little, until he hears the snap and it all falls apart in his hands. And then he could take all the pieces, the sparkling little splinters, and gather them up in a box lined with cotton wool, and keep them all for himself.

He's restrained himself so far, though, partly because he enjoys those hidden dreams, enjoys that he knows more about the boy's mind than _he_ does, and partly because if he broke the cleric it would upset Raenef, which would upset Eclipse, and Eclipse is a enough of a pain even when he isn't being irritable.

Mostly though, it's because he sort of likes the cleric the way he is, all loud mouth and hot temper and the delightfully flustered expression he gets when Krayon appears unexpectedly in his dreams to tease and flirt. And the way he's not sure whether it's _really_ Krayon or some figment of his own imagination, which flusters him all the more. Really, that's far too much fun to give up right now.

Sooner or later the dreams, the memories they hide, will rise to the surface of their own accord - or be pulled into the light of day at Rased's demand. Someday it will be convenient for the god that the boy should remember his past, and the crystal cage that protects him will shiver to dust, and it will only remain to be seen whether the mind beneath will stand firm or break, cracks webbing crazily until he fragments under the weight of his own memories.

In his own head, Krayon can't help rooting for the boy, just a bit. Because the gods mess people around too much - even more than demons - and it's sort of satisfying to see someone come out the other side of their games in one piece. And Krayon has to admit that he's developed a bit of a soft spot for the cleric, arrogant and idiotic and all as he is. He's gotten to know the boy too well, that's the problem, and after hanging around in his dreams so long he can't imagine not doing so; not teasing and embarrassing him; not manoeuvring him into deliciously compromising positions to watch him blush and stutter and eventually, inevitably, melt.

And besides, Krayon's always had a thing for boys with earrings.


End file.
